Reminders
by sydneysages
Summary: They can be good, but they can be bad. Who knows whether the pros outweigh the cons from memories and the way that they're influencial of actions today. Samelie forever! Drabble. R&R


_For curlycharlie, who loves Samelie so much!_

_And for every other lover… which includes me!_

_**Rachel Caine tweeted me back today! So excited! I can't stop telling people**__!_

_I don't own anything…_

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><p>Reminders<p>

She brushes her hair and is instantly hit with a pang of remembrance about a time when she was happy, about a time when she could be relaxed enough with someone to allow them to see her without her hair being immaculately done. The time that she allowed him to do it for her and ended up looking like a three year old with bunches high on the sides of her head.

But she didn't matter… because… because, at that time, happiness was the only thing she had that she cared about. Happiness was the only emotion that registered in her body, being with the man she loved, the man she loves to this day, and his perfect son.

She winces as she flashes back to a time when she stayed at his home, something unheard of at the time, and stood in front of the gilded mirror in the hallway to brush her hair. But she doesn't remember the action of brushing her hair, no, she remembers the moment when _his_ hands brushed along her neck before his lips suddenly attached themselves to the nape of her neck, whispering sweet nothings about how she didn't need to make herself perfect.

But she manages to flick the switch off in her mind, as she has managed to do for the past fifty years – with difficulty, mind you. She manages to push the thoughts of the sweet toddler to the back of her mind along with the even sweeter thoughts of the handsome father of that child, the one whose red hair sparkled in the sunlight from what she could see from afar.

Yet as she walks through her house, she can only see the reminders of _him_. She can't even call him by his name because… because it hurts too badly. Whenever she even _thinks_ of his name, she wants to curl up and die in utter pain as she misses him so badly, craves for him every single night before she goes to sleep. The moment before you sleep is the most honest one you have, your brain simply releasing a truthful thought that you utterly believe in, and every single night it is for _him_.

She turns to the left and sees the painting that she chose simply because he had recommended the artist once, in one of their first meetings. He had commented on the way that the melting clocks were so perfect because…

"_They fit so well because, it shows how time isn't the only thing in the world that we need to focus on," he had said, offering his own interpretation on Dali's work, an opinion she had never considered before. "You see, it shows how society goes into meltdown when they only think about how much time they have left. If you do that, you can never truly live."_

And that is the only thing she can think of every _single_ day as she passes it. Somewhere in her subconscious she realises it would be a better idea to take it down, to put it into the back so that she just doesn't have to go through this immense turmoil every time that she passes it, but she knows she never will. See… for no matter _how_ much pain it causes, the joy at the memory of such a night will never leave her. For she learnt something about the man she loves that night: she learnt that he didn't believe in following the usual constraints of life, always worrying when his life would end.

Good job, that, since it ended… just not in the usual way.

She passes her library on the way to her study, the pain returning. The shelves are lined with books and she remembers one of the days that she brought him here. he instantly began to analyse every book she owned, ridiculing some of her choices but challenging her to explain just _why_ she loved others.

"_It's a classic," she had argued about Jane Eyre, even though it had been coined merely a century or so ago – nothing to her._

_He shook his head, unable to accept that. "That isn't a reason why you love a book. For example… Oliver Twist. I love that book simply because the entire issue of poverty and lack of equality has been brought up. I love the character of Oliver; he reminds me of myself a little from when I myself was younger… but I don't love the book simply because it is a classic," he retorted, stunning her with the maturity of his response._

"_I love it because it shows a forbidden love, in a sense, and one that shows no bounds," she whispered, explaining why she loved the book as it came to hit her that the situation, albeit it different simply because __**vampire**__ are involved, it is similar to her and him…_

She hasn't been able to read that book again.

Everything reminds her of him: the way that the sun shines through the heavily tinted windows of her office reminds her of the brilliance of his smile; the way that since _him_, she has always found an excuse to have gravy with her meal if it contains pasta simply because he introduced her to the wonderful world of pasta with gravy; the way that she listens to music she would _never_ have listened to before simply because he loved it and she loves everything he does.

So much reminds her of him…

It's both a blessing and a curse.

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><p><em>Sam:<em>

He can't remember a time when he hasn't woken up and expected to find his Amelie beside him – he can call her _his_ because he knows that she loves him, no matter what she says – but she never is. For a few moments every morning, a time which he clings onto with his entire being, he has the chance to forget the heartache of half a century and simply imagine that the space next to him in the bed is occupied by Amelie, that he has someone to love and in reach of him.

Then he wakes up properly and that moment is gone.

He gets up wearily, unable to function right as he begins to dress himself. As he settles down for some breakfast, it dawns on him that he could get rid of just a little of the pain he feels every damn _single_ day by skipping this unnecessary meal.

But, like Amelie though he doesn't know this, he decides that the pain is worth remembering the good times, the pain is worth getting to experience the jolts of remembrance.

"_You have never eaten pancakes?" he asked her, agog as she confessed to this. she shook her head, smiling widely, as she sat at his kitchen table at nine am; she had taken to coming over at the beginning of the day whenever she came so that she could experience the entire day with him._

"_Never," she confirmed verbally as he continued to stare at her, almost as if he hadn't understood._

"_No, I got that; I just can't believe that you have never eaten pancakes!" he laughed, beginning to make them at that second. "That is something that we are going to correct now, Amelie, with no options to get out of it!" he continued, preparing a plate of pancakes for her to eat._

_She ate them feverishly, more to please Sam than to do anything else, and he laughed at the way that she ate them._

"_Um, Amelie?" he stopped her eating quickly, smiling widely as he spotted something. "You're supposed to put the maple syrup __**on**__ the pancakes, not decorate the plate with it!"_

He sighs as he remembers this before he walks through to the living room of his flat, his heart stopping (no pun intended) as he spots the rows of books on his wall – every single one of them has some pertinence to Amelie. They all are duplicates of the ones that are in her library, though he only chose the ones which had any meaning to either of them to take into his own home.

Everything reminds him of her: he took the job as the English Lit teacher for vampires simply because it would allow him the chance to get close to Amelie, as well as allow him a chance to get distracted so that the reminders of her wouldn't destroy him. It hurts him every day when he thinks her name because he can't stop himself: when he wakes up in the morning, the first words that come into his head are "Amelie, I love you."

So whilst she can stop herself thinking of his name, keep him abstract in her heart and mind, he cannot have the same luxury… he thinks of her every single day; she is always on his mind.

Reminders can be good, reminders can be bad. It's just how you view the reminder and whether or not you choose to remember the positives or the negatives…

… and whether you have the person you love or not.

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><p><em>Whatcha think?<em>

_Bit drabble-y but… _

_Hope you liked!_

_Please review!_

_Vicky xx_


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